Even though she was getting paid by the Council, carpet still cost money, so she should really quit wearing a track in it.
With a huge sigh, Buffy halted her latest circuit of the empty house and flopped down on the couch. That lasted all of two minutes before driving restlessness had her up and moving again. This time, she opted for outdoors and aimlessly circled the perimeter of the darkened yard a few times before settling into one of the outside chairs.
She tilted her wrist until the rays of the moon caught the face of her watch. 10:00 p.m. Dawn, Janice, and friends were probably still on their first movie and coat of nail polish.
Gonna be a long night.
Not her first. Good bet not her last. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair.
Saturday nights truly sucked, or at least they did for her. Everybody else was having a good or interesting time. Dawn was partying hearty at Janice’s. Giles was off on some Coven mission. He’d explained that while he would always return to Sunnydale, he would be working for/with the Coven, leaving the Magic Box in Anya’s…make that Mrs. Xander Harris’…frighteningly capable hands.
Even in her current unsettled state, Buffy had to smile. After everything that had gone into putting on the wedding from hell – the planning, the dresses, the seriously strange ice sculpture - Xander and Anya had gone to a Justice of the Peace two weeks ago on his lunch hour. Buffy’s first clue of the status change had been when Anya almost hit her in the nose in an effort to casually show off her wedding ring.
Xander seemed to have forgotten that he’d ever been anything other than goofily happy over the whole situation. Which was sweet although the sappy grin he constantly wore got slightly disturbing after a while. Not to mention the fact that he’d been so busy watching his new wife that he’d walked straight into one of the walls of the store. Buffy had excused him from patrols until he got his head back together. At the moment, he was so happy, he’d let evil off with a talking to.
Tonight the newlyweds were no doubt snuggled into their apartment gazing into each others eyes. And that pretty much accounted for everyone other than…
Buffy’s eyes remained closed but her smile faded. She didn’t know what Spike was doing tonight. Maybe he was arranging his furniture. Maybe he was out on a date. Certainly, the real estate woman had been drooling while he finished signing the papers.
After looking at all the modern apartments with their pools and gyms and tennis courts, Spike had chosen a house in a secluded lot at the end of a quiet street. It was large and old-fashioned looking with lots of fancy carved trim and gargoyles over the door and surrounded by overgrown rosebushes.
“Somebody has delusions of Batman,” had been Dawn’s comment.
Batman or no, Spike had insisted that was where he wanted to live. Travers had fussed but agreed, and Spike had started combing antique shops.
“Somebody has delusions of gay Batman,” Xander had corrected.
She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. No, Spike wasn’t gay. She’d had confirmation of that. Whatever he felt about her, he definitely wasn’t gay.
Despite splitting patrols and research duty, they hadn’t sparred together since his return. Just the idea made Giles look around for glasses to clean. Both Buffy and Spike were uncomfortable with the idea as well, both remembering all too well what their last fight had been about.
So, four days ago, when she let herself into the Magic Box after closing to use the training room, she hadn’t been prepared for Spike to be working on the punching bag.
She stood frozen in the doorway, watching the way sweat molded his tank top and grey knit shorts to his body. He’d filled out a little since becoming human, losing the starved look, but the muscles that flexed in his arms and shoulders and legs were clearly visible.
The problems with the temple and grief for Willow had occupied most of Buffy’s mind, making it easier for her to fall back into the familiar pattern of Spike as smart-assed companion, but now, she remembered what else he had been to her and the things they had done, and heat pooled in her lower belly.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Buffy backed away quietly, but for some reason, a book dropped from a shelf with a loud bang, and Spike spun away from the bag, dropping into a crouch with a grace that did nothing to settle her insides. He looked startled, apparently as surprised to see her as she him, then his gaze sharpened, and Buffy was uncomfortably aware of the low scoop neck of her own shirt under her jacket.
“Slayer,” he said neutrally.
“Same to you,” she chirped then wondered if he would notice if she kicked herself for stupidity. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll be back later. Bye.”
She gave him a wide, nervous smile and started to turn, but he shook his head. “I’m done. Come ahead.”
That has to have been more innocent than it sounded. Please don’t let him say anything about ‘rough and tumble’ or ‘grunting’.
“Great,” she said as normally as possible, then stared around the room, drawing an absolute blank as to what she should do. Going over to the punching bag that was still surrounded by his scent and marked by his sweat sounded like a bad idea. Getting down on the mat sounded worse…or not.
Desperate not to appear like an utter idiot, Buffy went over to the vaulting horse and began to stretch. It’s what she would have done if she’d been working with Giles, she reasoned. This was the same thing.
Yeah, right, sure it was. She was always this flushed and sweaty at the stretching phase of her workouts with Giles. Despite her discomfort and strong desire to be elsewhere, she hooked her ankle over the padded pommel and bent along her leg, trying to focus on the stretch.
The memory hit her suddenly of bending over the tomb in Spike’s crypt, the surface cold and rough against her bare breasts, his chest cold and smooth against her back, his hands pressed against the tomb on either side of her head flexing in rhythem with his thrusts.
Buffy wrenched upright, pulling her leg down. As she raised her head with its burning cheeks, she caught Spike’s reflection in the mirror. He was holding an obviously forgotten bamboo practice staff, heat and desire plain in his expression.
Her own need grew until it was all she could think of. Buffy held his reflected gaze for a long deliberate moment, then went to the weapons cabinet and took up her own staff.
“Want to go a few rounds?” she purred, strolling to the center of the floor.
Spike caught his breath, eyes narrowing, hand tightening around the staff. He moved forward until he faced her only a few feet away. Buffy smiled, bringing her staff up, anticipating how this particular dance would end.
“No,” he snarled, throwing his staff to the floor.
Buffy gasped, feeling like cold water had been dumped over her head.
“What…I thought…”
“I know what you thought. That you’d get your itch scratched.”
Anger began to replace shock and embarrassment. “Looks to me like you’ve got an itch of your own,” she snapped, jerking her head towards the bulge that was plain in his shorts.
“You think you’ll embarrass me? When have I ever denied wanting you? But I never wanted just sex, not even the night I attacked you. And that’s all you’re offering isn’t it? If you have something more to give, we can talk. Until then, if I want to jerk off, I can do it alone.”
That had been four days ago. Four days of not seeing him save in the company of at least one of the others. Four nights of tearing her bedding to shreds in a mix of anger and shame and desire.
Well, fine. If he doesn’t want me, that’s just…fine. I didn’t need Angel or Riley and I don’t need Spike. I can…
“Sit by yourself and be miserable?”
She opened her eyes and looked into Willow’s face.
“I’m really good at that,” Buffy said vaguely. Then, the realization that seeing Willow was a little odd to say the least, made her look around. They were in a wide sunny, flower-strewn meadow. The sky was impossibly blue with just enough white, fluffy clouds to make shapes out of. “Very Disney,” she added. “Did I die again and not notice or what?”
“Nah, I’m just taking advantage of you being asleep,” Willow said. She looked sternly at Buffy, then sighed. “I’m supposed to help you subtly, like making books fall off shelves, but nothing less than a full intervention seems to work on you. That or a kick in the head.”
“If I had a nickel for every time…”
“Yeah, yeah. But it’s true. Remember how I said that I was your best friend and would tell you if you were repulsive?”
“I’m guessing the time is now,” Buffy answered, trying not to get defensive.
“You’re not up to repulsive, but you’re well into the ‘doofus’ range,” Willow said, her gentle hand on Buffy’s wrist taking the sting from her words. “You know Spike loves you. He became a Slayer so he could help you.”
“And, hey, no pressure there.”
“I guess it would be something he could bring up during fights if he wanted, but do you really think he would? He just wants you to want him for more than sex. And you do like him beyond that, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, blushing.
“See? It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Combine the friend thing and the sex thing and you’d be just like me and Tara…well, except for the dead gay witch thing…Ok. You’d be just like me and Oz. Of course, he killed Veruca and left, and by the time he’d got back I was with Tara…and I’m not really helping, am I?”
“Not so much,” Buffy laughed. “But that’s ok. I’m just glad you’re here. I really, really miss you, Will.”
“I miss you too,” her friend said with a smile.
Buffy covered the sting in her eyes with a snort. “Do not. You and Tara are too busy rolling around in these flowers to think about us.”
“We take breaks. Then, I definitely miss you. And quit trying to change the subject.” Her voice softened. “You know, that was some good advice you gave to Xander about talking to Anya.”
“Are you watching me all the time? Because that’s going to put a cramp in things.”
“I’m only hanging around you because you’re sad. Once you get your act together, I’ll stop. Now, about that talking…”
“Yeah,” Buffy sighed. “Did you hear the part where I said it was really hard to do?”
Willow shrugged. “You’re the Slayer. You do hard stuff all the time. It’s your job description.”
“Slaying is my job description. Not talking. Not sharing. Slaying.”
“Think of it as a growth opportunity,” Willow said firmly. “And it has to be easier now that he’s not a vampire.” She looked closely at Buffy. “You don’t still wish he was a vampire, do you?”
“Of course not,” Buffy sighed. “Or, not really. At least, I knew what to do with him then. I knew where I stood or where I was supposed to stand. Now, it’s all changed. Spike lives in a house. I can’t kick down the door of a house. I’m not good with change. Change usually means getting worse.”
“No, change is good!” Willow insisted. At Buffy’s raised eyebrow, she went on. “So it’s not always good.” She thought. “I’m sure there was a time it was good. If not, this can be the first. Just say what’s in your heart, Buffy. It doesn’t have to be perfect or rhyme. It just has to be true.” A soft smile crossed her face. “And now it’s time to wake up.”
“Wake up, Buffy.”
She jerked upright to see Anya standing in front of her chair arms folded.
“What’s the matter?” Buffy asked, leaping to her feet and braced to hear about a brand new apocalypse.
“Nothing,” Anya said firmly. “It’s time for an intervention.”
Spike settled back on his mattress and idly flipped through the channels, unable to find anything to hold his interest even on the new big screen television that had taken up most the furniture allowance provided by the Council. Hence the mattress on the floor. Ah, well, he’d slept on a tomb in his time, and the surround sound was definitely worth it.
Giving up, he leaned back against the wall and took a final drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ornate black ashtray. He refused to give up smoking no matter how many visual aids Dawn provided, although alcohol wise he was limiting himself to a couple of occasional beers, like the ones he’d had at the Bronze that night.
Going there hadn’t been a good idea. Too many memories.
Looking to the left, Spike had been able see the spot by the stairs where Buffy had kissed him with desperate passion. Over his head was the catwalk where he’d tried to convince her that she belonged with him…which also hadn’t been a good idea, although he couldn’t bring himself to regret the sex part of it.
At the thoughts of Buffy and sex, his scowl deepened. He’d seen her twice since their encounter in the training room. Once she’d been with Dawn and once with Anya and Xander. Both times, her face and voice had been cold and clipped. In reflexive anger, he’d sniped back, hard, keeping her on the defensive, subsiding only when Anya slipped free of her bridal stupor enough to give him a sharp look.
It didn’t help that a large portion of his mind wished he’d taken Buffy up on her offer of going a few rounds. The graceful arc of her back as she stretched had made him achingly hard, and her smirk as she faced him had made him want to throw both of them to the mats.
But he hadn’t done it, and by God he wasn’t going to. He was not going to be her sex toy again. Buffy could come to him on his terms or not at all and…
“If she comes, what will you do?”
Spike opened his eyes to find Tara seated next to him, comfortably crosslegged on a sea of grass and flowers, her long skirt tucked beneath her.
“What do you mean?” he asked shortly.
“Will you try to make her pay? Make her crawl? Or will you make a place for her?”
“Buffy knows she’s got a place with me, always has had. But even if I wanted a bit of crawling, what of it? I’m owed, aren’t I? Done enough of my own. Or do you think I should have taken her up on her offer and let her do whatever the hell she likes?”
He was on his feet, stalking back and forth through the flowers, ignoring the daisies crushed underfoot as he gave voice to the anger and frustration he’d felt for months.
“I turned into A SLAYER to help that girl! I gave up the opportunity to go with Dru and be what I was. For Buffy. And now I’m supposed to go back to being her whipping boy, just one who can go out in the sunlight? I don’t think so! If she doesn’t like it, she can sit and be righteous all by her bloody self!”
Spike ran down and looked at Tara who was leaning back on her arms watching him with mild interest.
“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing in the training room,” she said calmly. “You two weren’t in a good pattern, and you didn't need to start it up again. Buffy made a mistake. Those happen. The important question is, ‘What now?’.”
“I’m not seeking her out,” he said through his teeth.
“All right.”
He waited a moment, but that seemed to be all that was forthcoming. “What, you think I should?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, but actually, no, I don’t. You and Buffy both have a lot of pride, which is good. It’s important to do what’s right for you. Still, give her some room to maneuver.” She smiled. “That way, everybody gets their own nice little pile of rocks.”
“Hmph,” he snorted. “I have a quite a large pile, thank you very much. And they're more like boulders.”
The smile turned into a surprisingly wicked grin. “I have no doubt. And on that note, you should probably wake up. There’s somebody to see you.”
He opened his eyes and found himself back on his mattress. The room was empty and by extending his hearing, Spike knew there was no one in the house either. He got to his feet and moved silently to the window, smirking in triumph as he saw Buffy hovering indecisively at the end of his sidewalk.
Being on the receiving end of an Anya intervention was sort of peaceful. She talked without stopping for air, so there was no chance for Buffy to say anything. All she had to do was look like she was paying attention, a skill she’d perfected in high school classes and Watcher lectures.
“Buffy! Are you listening to me?”
Oops. At least she doesn’t want to know how ants communicate.
Fortunately, she knew how these things went. “My problems are my own fault,” Buffy said. “I should quit feeling sorry for myself and…um…solve them. And you’re only saying this because you care about me.”
Anya regarded her with narrowed eyes. “I was wrong. You were listening.”
She smiled brightly. “Of course I was.”
Actually, she felt a little guilty. She liked Anya and understood that the Vengeance Demon was trying to help. But it had been a very long year, and she was getting tired of all the lecturing.
All right. I get it. I suck. Let’s move on.
“I guess that’s everything,” Anya said, still watching her with a troubled expression. “Except…I really do want you to be happy, Buffy. It’s been a long time since you were.”
“Thanks,” she said, softening. “I’m happy about some things, like you and Xander getting together.”
Anya looked dreamily into the distance, right hand caressing her wedding ring. “It’s wonderful.” She frowned. “Stop changing the subject.”
“Sorry.”
“Do what I said, and you can be happy for yourself, not just other people. Now, remember,” she held up an admonishing finger. “If you happen to have sexual intercourse with Spike again, he’s human now, so you have to use protection. Funny,” she added as Buffy swallowed a mouthful of air and began to wheeze, “That’s just how he looked.”
“You said this to Spike?” Buffy choked.
“Naturally. Somebody has to be responsible around here. I’ll see you later. Think about what I said.”
She snapped her fingers and was gone.
Buffy dropped back into the chair feeling as if she’d been kicked. That had certainly been interesting, especially the protection comment. Baby-making Spike. The mind didn’t just boggle. It curled in a ball and whimpered.
She’d used protection with Parker and Riley but it hadn’t exactly been an issue with Spike. Or Angel.
Angel.
She bit down hard on her lip. If she went to Spike, Buffy knew, she and Angel would be over. Oh, she’d told herself they were over before and had meant it, but she was pretty sure that some deep corner of her soul had kept alive the idea that he might come back to her one day, that they would stand together in the sunlight.
Sleeping with VampireSpike when she’d been lost in despair had been something she thought Angel could understand. He knew about darkness. Even just sleeping with SlayerSpike in the heat of her hormones could have been written off as a mistake. But if she went to him now, she was closing a door both in her soul and in reality.
Spike’s return had made her wonder if Angel would come back to her if he could and if that was even what she wanted. She turned the idea over again in her mind, trying to decide.
…You ever suss out what you do want, there’ll probably be a parade…
Unwillingly a smile curved her lips. He could make her laugh when she let him. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted her to be happy. He loved her. She examined the concept carefully, surprised to find that it didn’t seem to scare her anymore. Instead, it made her feel…warm? Safe? Good feelings anyway.
“Get out the trombones,” Buffy muttered and stood.
That thought got her all the way to the sidewalk in front of his house where she stopped as surely as if the concrete were quicksand. It was 11:30, and she couldn't see any lights. He was a human, now, (who could make babies!) and might even be asleep. As she’d said to Willow, Spike lived in a house. She couldn’t kick in the door of a house. Buffy felt a wave of homesickness for the crypt. There had certainly been problems with that, but they were problems she understood.
She was practically jigging in place, her feet trying to go forward and turn around and flee at the same time when the porch light flicked on, the front door opened, and Spike stood there looking at her.
The smirk was gone by the time he opened the front door. Buffy radiated tension, as fierce and frightened as any feral cat. It would take nothing at all to send her back the way she’d come.
“You’re not doing it right,” he called just loud enough for her to hear, careful to keep his pose casual.
She blinked. “Doing what?”
“Lurking. You need a more sinister air. Try to look as if you’re plotting something.”
He could almost see her decide whether or not to become angry and sighed in relief when her shoulders relaxed. As if without realizing it, she took a step or two closer to the house.
“I’m not lurking. I’m…patrolling for evil. It’s a totally different vibe.”
Spike allowed himself to grin. “Afraid not, Pet. Despite the amateurish attempt, it’s definitely a lurk you’ve got going there.”
Another step, plus what looked suspiciously like a smile. “Guess I can’t fool the expert.”
“Bloody right.”
There was a pause, while Buffy looked up at the sky, then down at her feet, and once rather longingly over her shoulder. Spike forced himself to hold still and keep silent. He would make a place for her, but she had to take it on her own.
Still, when she finally said, “Can I come in?” with a defiant jerk of her chin, he let the love he felt for her show through his voice and gaze.
“Always.”
The gentleness in his voice almost made her bolt, but she took a breath and made herself move toward the house. Spike stepped aside as she reached the door, gesturing her in, and Buffy sidled past with a fleeting wish for the good old days when he had to worry about was him killing her, when the sight of him didn’t make her stomach clench into knots.
She stepped into the living room and had to laugh, taking in the mattress against one wall, the reading lamp, and the huge television complete with a remote that looked like it could fly the shuttle.
“Way to prioritize,” she giggled.
“What do you spend your cash on? Make-up mirrors?”
“Mostly I save up for Dawn’s college fund and/or bail money. Plus the occasional pair of boots.”
“More than the occasional pair, I think,” Spike said, eying her feet.
There wasn’t anywhere to sit other than the mattress which didn’t feel like an option, so she remained standing nervously by the television. Spike leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, watching her silently.
He wasn’t going to give her any help, she realized, and swallowed against the building panic.
Get it over with already.
Buffy faced him, her arms folded across her chest. “Sorry about the other day,” she said abruptly.
The silence grew and thickened. He was waiting for more, she knew. “AND?” was almost written in a cartoon-balloon over his head. She realized that she’d pressed back against her wall, as if subconsciously trying to tunnel out of the house.
I’d rather fight the worst monster that ever was than do this.
However, this was the battle she’d been given, and she groped for the words that must be her weapons. “You said if I had more to give we could talk,” she faltered. “I told you before that I had…feelings for you. That’s still true.”
“But not love,” he said quietly. “You couldn’t trust me enough for it to be love.”
“Yeah, but everything’s changed. You’re a Slayer.”
Spike laughed shortly. “So I’ve finally proved myself.” He pushed off the wall and strolled to her, his eyes on her face, stopping a few feet away. “Except Slayers can be dark as demons, can’t they? You said it yourself, Pet, that you put a knife in Faith’s belly. And I might have a soul, but so did Warren. I can’t bite, but I could still kill. I’m the same person I always was, except in your mind.”
She opened her mouth to say...something…drew a blank and closed it again. What he said was true. There were evil people, evil Slayers. Nothing prevented Spike from doing something dark if he wanted.
“I guess you’re right,” Buffy said at last. When he was still silent, she threw up her hands. “Spike, I don’t know what you want me to say, or if you want me to say anything. So, I’ll just go, ok? I’ll see you at the Magic Box. We can still patrol and…whatever.”
Something was hurting deep inside, the hard pain she had first known when Angel became Angelus, by now a familiar sensation. She brushed by him, heading for the door, trying to ignore it.
Just get out. You can cry when you get home.
“It’s simple enough, Buffy. Do you love me? Yes or No.”
His words brought her to a halt by the door, and she gripped the jamb hard enough to make her fingers ache.
“Probably.”
“Bloody hell!” Spike exploded, the calm voice gone. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, scowling down at her. “Probably? The best you can do is probably? You can’t make up your mind enough to say one sodding word? I’m sorry, Slayer, but that’s not good enough!”
“That’s too bad, Slayer!” she shouted back. “Because it’s the best I’ve got unless you want me to lie! Which I’ve never done, Spike. You know I’ve never lied to you.”
He flung her arm from him and spun away, dismissing her.
With a snarl, Buffy followed, circling getting in front of him again. “Oh, no you don’t,” she growled. “You’ve been after me to talk for a year and a half, so I’m talking and you’re going to listen.” She leaned in, gripping his forearms tightly. “I’m not sure I know what love is, Spike. I loved Angel but it was this huge, tragic destiny thing. Maybe, somehow, I always knew it wouldn’t be forever. I could have sworn I loved Riley, but nobody else seemed to think so, including him, so maybe not. Or maybe I’m just really bad at it.”
Spike started to speak, but Buffy rode over him. “I want you with me, ok? If you’re there, I don’t feel like my back is exposed. I know you’ll cover me the best you can. I know you’ll look after Dawn.”
He shook his head, his face distant and disengaged his arms from her grasp. “You can get that from Xander. You’re talking about a friend, Buffy, or another Watcher. That’s the place you want. Someone dependable. Someone convenient.”
Utter weariness swept over her and she closed her eyes. It was over. He was gone. Like the others.
From very far away, she heard herself say, “Why do people say ‘dependable’ like it’s a dirty word? Do you know what it means to me to feel like I can depend on somebody? That they’ll understand what I’m saying? That they won’t go away?” She opened her eyes again and looked at him, almost feeling her heart break. “Yeah, it’s convenient for me to have you around. Like it’s convenient for me to have eyes, arms, and legs. Is that love? When it’s like you’re a part of me?”
Her voice broke on the last word and her eyes spilled over with tears. She’d never cried in front of Spike before other than the night he’d found her when her mother first went to the hospital. Displaying weakness in front of him had always been a thing to avoid, since he would take advantage. Normally, she tried not to cry in front of anyone, never feeling quite comfortable with the idea. Something inside her wanted to turn away, but she made herself stand there, giving him the truth of her feelings.
“It’ll do to go on with.”
His arms closed around her as a sob tore out of her chest, and then he was rocking her back and forth while she clung to him.
“Don’t go,” Buffy whispered.
“Never.”
Spike slid an arm under her knees and lifted her, carrying her to his mattress where he sat, cradling her on his lap.
Peace. Safety. A sense of homecoming.
Her crying died away and she sniffled furiously, drawing a chuckle from Spike. “On television, they always manage to cry prettily.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to reality where noses run and turn red.”
They were quiet for a time and Buffy felt herself relaxing and almost growing sleepy as Spike rested his chin against her hair.
“’Sfunny,” she muttered.
“Hmm?”
“Your skin’s not cool anymore.”
“I could fetch an ice cube if you’d like.”
“No. It’s fine.”
She leaned her head back on his shoulder and looked up at him, reaching a hand up to trace over his cheekbone, down along his jawline, resting over the pulse in his throat. Spike was very still, looking down at her, arms tight around her waist and shoulders.
“I’m pretty sure I really do love you,” she said and he smiled.
“Good. I’m pretty sure I love you too.”
She smiled back, then cautiously sat up a little and brushed her lips over his.
They’d been together so many times before, but the sensations tonight were new. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his breathing hitched in his lungs, and his skin grew hot beneath his clothes. Buffy seemed aware of the changes too, leaning in to run her tongue along his jugular the way he’d so often done to her.
Spike gasped, shuddering, and she increased the pressure, nipping lightly at the skin. He pulled back and stared at her wildly, part of his mind helplessly remembering the last night they’d been together, her tears and her pleas for him to stop, his blind unthinking need. Buffy seemed to know what was going on, for she shifted to straddle his lap, leaning down to kiss him deeply.
“I want you,” she said and kissed him again. “I want this.” Another kiss. “Spike, I want you to make love to me.” Her mouth sought his yet again. “Please.”
“God,” he groaned and pulled her to him, tried to pull her into him, and she came eagerly.
As they moved and kissed and touched, their perspectives suddenly shifted into the mode they’d experienced during the fight with Amy, as if they were one person split into two bodies. His teeth closed on her nipple with exactly the right pressure to make her arch and moan, and her hand got his trousers open with no trouble before closing around his cock with just enough firmness to make his hips buck helplessly.
Both pulled back smoothly to finish undressing each other, their movements synchronized, no fumbling or hesitation. He lay back under Buffy’s urging and writhed as her lips found his most sensitive spots with unerring accuracy.
For all the passion, it was much gentler than before, the sense of fierce urgency gone, both understanding that there was time, now, and no need to be afraid, for there would be no turning back or away.
He thought his heart would explode when her tongue teasingly flicked the length of his cock and his hands scrabbled against the floor. She stayed down there for some time, nuzzling and kissing but not taking him in, knowing as he did, that he’d be done for immediately.
However, he did have enough awareness to finally reach down and grab her, flipping them both, so she could take her turn at writhing, as his mouth traveled from neck, to breasts, to belly and further down to taste her fully.
She arched wildly as he drove his tongue against her, and he didn’t stop until he felt her shudder and jerk, her orgasm almost firing along his own nerve endings.
Everything in him wanted to thrust deeply inside her, but something clamored and screamed at the back of his mind, and at the same time, Buffy started pushing at him frantically.
“Protection,” he gasped just as she said “You’re human now.”
They paused and eyed each other suspiciously.
“Did Anya talk to you too?” Spike asked in shock.
Buffy’s face flamed. “Maybe she could give lectures at Dawn’s school.” She paused. “Or not.”
“At any rate, I’ve got…” he paused as she blushed even harder. “Buffy?”
“Coat pocket,” she muttered. “There was an all-night drugstore.”
“Hussy,” he said admiringly, and she grinned.
“But a safe hussy.”
It was a new experience feeling her hand slide the condom over him, yet another verification of this strange new life he was leading. Once covered, he eased her to her back again and raised himself over her.
Knowing it was what she wanted, he slid into her with one quick thrust. Instantly, her legs and arms locked around him, but instead of watching him as she’d normally done during their sex, Buffy lifted her head and kissed him again, soft gentle kisses against his lips while their lower bodies thrust furiously against each other.
“Spike,” she whispered as they moved. “Oh, God…Sweetheart.”
He cried out, the endearment sending him over the edge and caught her close, feeling her muscles clamp down on him.
The odd split-consciousness sensation faded, as his orgasm passed, but Buffy showed no sign of pulling away as they relaxed, and he was content.
All was well until she began to snicker.
“What?”
The snicker became a guffaw.
“What is so bloody funny?”
“You were right,” she choked between howls of laughter. “There is only one thing better than killing a Slayer.”
“Finally. I thought they never would get straightened out.”
“I think they'll be fine now. I still can't believe you wanted to watch.”
“Not watch. Monitor. This is Buffy. It could have gone wrong at any time. Besides,” Willow bestowed a lustful smile on Tara. “You distracted me with your female wiles.”
“That's me. Wiley. Just like that coyote. Only without as many anvils.”
“So, now everybody's ok, and we don't have to worry about them anymore.”
“Well,” Tara said judciously. “At least not for a while. But sometime in the not too distant future, Dawn will start dating.”
There was a pause.
“Ewww.”